


serpent, serpent-bearer

by Elsajeni



Series: Good Omens Tinyfics [11]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Horoscopes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsajeni/pseuds/Elsajeni
Summary: “You’re older than constellations. You’re older than–- thanday and night, never mind the modern calendar. You have certainly not got a star sign.”“I may not,” Aziraphale says, “but A. Z. Fell has. You have to have a birthday these days, you know, humans absolutely don’t know what to do with you if you don’t.”“Right,” Crowley says, the teasing grin on his face softening into something fonder, more understanding. Because isn’t this, after all, what got them where they are? All the little human habits they’ve picked up, all the silly human things they’ve come to care about.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Tinyfics [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1443157
Comments: 41
Kudos: 259





	serpent, serpent-bearer

“Good morning, dear.”

“Mnng,” Crowley says, which is about as coherent as he gets before ten in the morning. He wanders past Aziraphale into the kitchenette, and back out again a moment later with a steaming mug, and then stops short, frowning blearily down at the table. “What’re you reading?”

“Hmm? _Oh_ -–” Aziraphale grabs his breakfast plate and shifts it over, covering a corner of the newspaper, and says brightly, “Just starting on the crossword!”

Crowley raises an eyebrow and looks at the plate, which obligingly slides back to where it was, exposing...

“The horoscope?” Crowley’s eyebrows climb higher, and he doesn’t even try to hide the disbelieving laugh in his voice. “Angel. Really? How can you read your horoscope?”

Aziraphale sits up straighter in his chair, lips pursing. “If you’re going to make fun–-”

“I’m not,” Crowley starts to protest, and then corrects himself, “All right, I am a little. But that’s–- I mean actually, literally, _how_? You’re older than constellations. You’re older than-– than _day and night_ , never mind the modern calendar. You have certainly not got a star sign.”

“I may not,” Aziraphale says, “but A. Z. Fell has. You have to have a birthday these days, you know, humans absolutely don’t know what to do with you if you don’t.”

“Right,” Crowley says, the teasing grin on his face softening into something fonder, more understanding. Because isn’t this, after all, what got them where they are? All the little human habits they’ve picked up, all the silly human things they’ve come to care about. The theater, his Bentley, a good earthy red wine. Sushi. Feeding ducks. Falling in love.

And now, apparently, horoscopes. He sets down his coffee and takes up his position behind Aziraphale, leaning down to drape himself over the angel’s shoulders, and says, “Go on, then. What’s your sign?”

“That’s a pickup line, you know,” Aziraphale says absently, and then, while Crowley is struggling to absorb the information that Aziraphale knows the phrase ‘pickup line’ _at all_ , let alone recognizes one when he hears it, answers the actual question, “Virgo.”

Crowley tries, poorly, to disguise his snort as a cough. Aziraphale gives him a warning look over the top of his reading glasses and says, “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say a word,” he protests.

“Hm,” Aziraphale says. “Well. What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

“What’s yours? Anthony Crowley’s, I mean. He must have a birthday on record.”

“Sixth of June,” Crowley says promptly.

“Of course it is,” Aziraphale murmurs, and gives him an indulgent look. “Let’s see... Gemini, then? Oh dear.”

“What?”

“Well, it does rather suit you. Quick wit, changeable nature. Open with your emotions. All your better traits, really.” Aziraphale glances over at him again, clearly fighting a smile. “Only I’m afraid the stars suggest we’re terribly incompatible.”

“ _What_ ,” Crowley says again, indignantly. “The stars? Oh, the _stars_ suggest-–”

“Near perfect opposites.” Aziraphale’s voice vibrates with suppressed laughter. “An absolutely disastrous match, romantically speaking.”

“ _Stars_ ,” Crowley sputters, seeing what Aziraphale expects of him and playing up to the role, “what-– as if they know-– I _made_ some of those, how dare they-–”

Aziraphale cracks at that, turning his head to bury a laugh in the side of Crowley’s neck. Crowley, pleased with himself, gives one last scornful, “ _Stars_ ,” and then gestures at the paper, the text shifting beneath his hand. “There,” he says. “Look at it now, there’s yours and mine. Proper ones, not some made-up rubbish about our made-up birthdays.”

Aziraphale composes himself and leans over to look, resettling his glasses on his nose. “Shall I assume Serpens is yours?”

“Good classic constellation, Serpens. Got a very nice nebula in it, too.”

“It sounds just your style, my dear. Oh, and I see it suggests a quiet day in today, with perhaps a drive in the countryside later on.”

“Does it?” Crowley says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fancy that. That’s exactly what I had planned.”

“A remarkable coincidence,” Aziraphale agrees, giving him another fond look. “Then this one is mine? Ophiuchus, let’s see, Ὄφις is ‘serpent’ and...”

He trails off, and when he turns to look at Crowley again, he looks less amused and more softly worried than Crowley had hoped. “Darling,” he says, his voice very gentle. “You do know you’re not any sort of burden to be borne.”

Crowley makes a pained sort of noise and protests, “That’s not what I meant.” (It might have been, a little. A joke, _mostly_ a joke, setting Aziraphale up to tease him a bit about how much trouble he is, that’s all. Count on Aziraphale to see through him, spot the core of truth in it and ruin the fun.)

“What, then?”

“It’s. Ngh.” Crowley shuts his eyes against the onslaught of tenderness, feeling his ears go pink. He would _really_ have preferred the teasing. “They’re connected. Almost the same constellation, really. Neither makes sense without the other.”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale says, one soft hand coming up to cup Crowley’s cheek. Crowley risks opening one eye, and almost immediately shuts it again-– Aziraphale’s face is a bare inch away, and the full force of his affection at this range is _a lot_ -– but he goes along when Aziraphale tugs him closer, catches him by the elbow and guides him around the back of the chair and down into his lap. “You really are a romantic, aren’t you? It sounds as if they suit us very well.”

Crowley leans into his shoulder. “Serpens especially,” he says, unable to stop himself. “Just a bunch of disconnected snakey bits. Wouldn’t be anything at all without Ophiuchus.”

Aziraphale hushes him, kisses him. “But the other half’s just as important,” he says when they break apart, low and close. “There’d be no purpose to Ophiuchus without his serpent. You know that.”

Crowley makes a choked-off noise and leans in for another kiss. This time Aziraphale keeps him there, arms around him, the kiss turning long and slow and sweet-– slowly the nervous tension drains out of him, shoulders loosening, hands coming up to tangle in Aziraphale’s hair.

He does break away, eventually, to complain, “You didn’t even read the horoscope I wrote you.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale says, laughing and pulling him back in, “if this isn’t how it says to spend my day, then I’m giving up on astrology altogether.”

**Author's Note:**

> The nebula in Serpens is the Eagle Nebula, where the famous (and stunning) "Pillars of Creation" photo comes from. It really is a very nice nebula.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Serpent, serpent-bearer - Elsajeni](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24409258) by [LenaReads (LenaLawlipop)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenaLawlipop/pseuds/LenaReads)




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